


Poetry in Motion

by Asymptotical



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Inquisitor origin option isn't the Inquisitor, M/M, Missionfic, Pining but it's mostly denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/pseuds/Asymptotical
Summary: Lavellan was supposed to travel to Haven.Instead he got completely sidetracked and it was all Dorian's fault.





	Poetry in Motion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



Lavellan had halfway expected the 'evil blood mages' he was tracking to turn out to be nothing more than some scared circle mages trying to rough it in a cave.

That was usually what it was. He'd run across two such groups since leaving his clan to go 'observe' the weird human mountain meeting. One of the groups hadn't even had the knowledge to put up wards, having never needed to cast them before they were suddenly thrown into a war. He'd had to teach the soft things some quick protections they could cast and what plants they could eat. Then he'd sent them on to somewhere better hidden. If he was hearing rumors then any angry roaming Templars certainly would and he doubted such hunters would be reasonable enough to realize that bunch was just a lost huddle of doelings starving as they waited for a dead herd to return for them. If he'd stayed any longer they probably would have tried to follow him. Like a pack of ducklings that he absolutely did not want to deal with.

He'd check on them on his way back.

Mostly because his Keeper would have an absolute fit if he didn't.

This time, though, it wasn't a sad bundle of circle mages taking their first fearful steps into the world. These mages were every bit worthy of the rumors the fearful townspeople had whispered about them.

He kept carefully out of sight as he shadowed two of them. They appeared to be searching for someone. They appeared to be very angry about whoever it was they were searching for.

From the snatches of conversation he'd managed to hear (which was really more than it should have been, they were very loud) it seemed like someone had managed to steal some important correspondence.

So in true evil Tevinter cultist fashion they were planning to murder that someone. Because lives were worth letters.

Humans morals were so incredibly backwards.

He paused as he heard a sound in the distance. Yelling and spells, definitely. At least some of it _not_ blood magic. Not any magic he was familiar with either, but it was clear and bright and distinctive between all the mess the rest of these mages were leaving around.

 

* * *

 

This really wasn't how Dorian had expected to die.

Which was impressive, because the list of ways he expected to die was incredibly long and included such things as 'stabbed by a Ferelden for greeting their dog wrong' and 'choked on an Orlesian ornament placed onto a cake despite being in no way edible'.

It did not include 'falling from a tree he tried to climb up to avoid scouts so bad at this that he was actually somehow avoiding their spells via tree branch placement'.

In retrospect, a major oversight.

It was incredibly unfair of them though. The first four had been bad enough. He'd been outnumbered and still triumphed by virtue of not being a complete idiot, albeit with his mana stores sadly low and his last vial of lyrium spent... And then two more had shown up.

So now he was up a tree. Waiting to either get enough energy to raise one of the dead mages or for these two to grow a brain and figure out the magic of angles.

He almost missed the faint notes of magic when they spun up into the air.

It wasn't much. Almost like music. It was... quite calming actually. Which was absolutely bizarre considering the situation he was in and that realization was enough to shake him fully aware again.

The scouts, however, seemed to come to no such conclusion. They paused in their hex based assault of the tree, mumbling slightly while Dorian peered around wildly trying to see who or what was helping... Which of course assumed that the spell hadn't just been a clever attempt to get him out of the tree that backfired badly.

An arrow whizzing out of nowhere to imbed itself in the neck of one of the Venatori scouts put paid to that thought. The second scout had just enough time to shake herself awake before she too was laid out by an arrow.

Dorian carefully kept the tree between him and whoever was shooting. There had to be at least two people; a mage for the calming spell and a bow person for shooting based activities, but clearly the one with the pointy objects was the more dangerous of the two.

"It's safe."

Dorian almost fell off his branch as a voice sounded from _much_ closer than he was expecting. He scanned the ground frantically searching for the owner of the voice and-- Oh.

Right.

Trees.

His savior jumped to the branch of a tree more in Dorian's view, looking incredibly dashing. And annoyed.

Well. At least 'Shot to death by the Dalish' _was_ on his list and he did ever so like to be proven right.

 

* * *

 

Lavellan tried not to be incredibly disgruntled about who exactly he'd rescued.

He'd known it was probably a human.

He'd even known it was probably a human who had information about these actually dangerous humans.

It was entirely logical for someone in that position to be a Tevinter mage.

Dorian fluttered around ahead of him on the path before swinging back in a rush of ridiculous fabric. "I never did get your name."

"That was deliberate."

The Magister wilted a little, then promptly tossed the emotion away in favor of sarcasm. "Contrary to some particularly odd rumors, we can't _actually_ do any sort of dire magic just by knowing someone's name."

Lavellan rolled his eyes. Everything came back to magic with this. The real danger wasn't magic, it was some puffed up person who was used to treating other people as objects deciding that the secrecy of his mission was worth more than the lives of Lavellan's clan. Not that it was likely Dorian would even realize it was a clan name, but... better safe than sorry.

Even if this particular Magister seemed more like he'd gotten himself in way over his head than any sort of schemer.

"We aren't traveling together," he said instead.

Dorian pouted at him, walking backwards for a few steps until he almost tripped and then quickly righted himself. "Well we most certainly are traveling along the same _path_ , which is almost the same thing."

"The moment I step _off_ the path you're going to fall behind, and I'm not going to wait."

"Well what would you do that for when we have a perfectly nice slightly overgrown road right here." Dorian shoved at a bit of plant that was in his way for emphasis. "I can't even imagine how you travel through the part that's actually supposed to be filled with all sorts of mad bushes."

"There are paths if you know where to look, and otherwise you carve your own. How did you think the Dalish travel?"

"By road, clearly. Seeing as the extent of my Dalish based conversations consists of one elf who is currently on an underkept road."

Lavellan sighed. There were... a lot of ways he could respond to that. But he needed to try to avoid conversation. Humans would imprint on people incredibly quickly. The longer they'd been on their own and in the worse of situations, the faster they'd imprint.

And Dorian seemed the type to imprint quick based on how he'd immediately taken off after Lavellan when the elf had tried to leave him behind after that initial meeting.

It probably meant the man was less dangerous... but it also meant he was much more annoying.

"The roads are safe here," he said after a moment. "Or at least as safe as anywhere. Soon we'll be getting towards larger Orlesian cities. There are Chevaliers there, and Templars. Probably the other way around now that you've rogue Templars all over the place hunting down mages. You might be in more danger than I am."

And there he went. Overtalking. He should have just stopped at the first sentence.

"Are Chevaliers usually considered more dangerous than Templars?" Dorian asked, sounding intrigued.

"They literally go out hunting elves as part of their initiation, so yes."

"Ah."

 

* * *

 

Dorian was rather thrilled that it turned out the elf _hadn't_ been planning to kill him, even with his annoyance at accidentally rescuing an Altus (incredibly unfair, really). In fact he'd mostly seemed to have detoured in order to save whoever the Venatori were attempting to turn into dust.

That seemed like an _excellent_ reason to follow him right up to the moment that the man actually did try to kill him, but with luck they'd be somewhere less... woodsy... by then. Someone going out of their way to rescue someone seemed like an excellent indication that they were a safe traveling partner. And there was approximately zero chance of a legit actual lives-in-the-woods Dalish elf being secretly Venatori.

Of course, it was also possible that following a Dalish elf would just put him even more hopelessly off course than he'd intended, but at least the man was headed south.

"You _still_ haven't given me a name." Dorian pointed out cheerfully. He actually felt a bit miserable. There were burrs in his robes and a scratch up his arm and he'd spent half the day walking. He was fairly certain that once he stopped walking his feet would actually fall off and there was nothing he wanted more at them moment than a bath and some cooling salve. And then maybe another bath for good measure. And some clean clothes.

He hadn't intended to be an absolute pest about the name issue, but the elf was refusing to say something other than sighing, and refusing to actually slow his pace at all. Dorian was somewhat surprised he hadn't just taken to the trees and left him behind.

The tenth time he asked, the elf pinched the bridge of his nose, "Lavellan."

"Lavellan what?"

"That's my name. You don't need more. Don't need that even."

"Well I appreciate being entrusted with it all the same."

The elf-- Lavellan gave him a dirty look then, pushed his way through some underbrush and headed towards some rocks.

Okay now if that had been the last straw that was just ridiculous. Dorian had been outright polite!

"It'll be full dark soon. I'm going to hunt. You can set up camp. Or keep walking it's the same to me."

 

* * *

 

Lavellan had really hoped that eventually Dorian would give up keeping pace, but three days later he still had a fluttery complaint-filled companion.

It was his own damn fault for caving and giving Dorian his clan name. He'd figured it might be a compromise; impersonal enough to not really give Dorian anything to latch on to, but enough of a name to have.

Unfortunately, Dorian didn't even seem to mind. Or possibly he didn't realize it was a clan name (probably for the best, given Lavellan's earlier worries). It was fair, he supposed. It wasn't as though the clans taught much about how Magisters worked either. For all Lavellan knew they sprouted out of the ground, fully grown with twirlable facehair.

It would be slightly less annoying if Dorian _ever shut up_.

At the moment the pest was trying to figure out why Lavellan was traveling alone and where he was going. He'd already half guessed it, asking if the Dalish had been asked to send someone to the weird _meeting_ the human church was having with their mage prisoners on top of a mountain.

That _was_ where Lavellan was going. They hadn't been asked, and he had every intent of staying well away from anyone who might ask to many questions about his presence. But the nice thing about a bunch of people who didn't know each other planning to have an important meeting in the middle of nowhere on a mountain, was that it was going to be ridiculously easy for him to sneak in. Worst case, if the report he'd been passed had survived the passing enough to be at all useful, he could probably scale some rocks and go right into the temple to eavesdrop there. His Vallaslin were light and for some reason town people always seemed to think that meant that he'd left the Dalish or something. Because that was how blood writing worked, clearly.

(Some people also thought it meant that he was weaker. Some _Dalish_ , mostly. He knew one idiot hunter who had ink up the entire side of his body so thick you could barely see the designs and the man bragged about it constantly. Because apparently laying down and being poked for hours on end was the ultimate proof of strength.)

It would make more sense if human blood writing did fade, he supposed. The last few days had been the most Lavellan had ever had the annoyance of dealing with one of them at length and he'd never been in a position to ask any of the people who commented on his 'faded' Vallaslin.

He was _not_ asking Dorian about it.

Someone this pampered probably wouldn't know anyways. Magisters weren't exactly known for subjecting themselves to any sort of hardship. Even if there was some way that blood writing could be used for blood magic, they'd probably subject it onto some poor slave rather than ever risk a needle touching their own skin.

"You're much less frolicy than I would have expected." Dorian said suddenly.

The bizarre shift was enough to make Lavellan pay attention again. "What."

"I always imagined the Dalish must be rather carefree. Wandering here and there though the woods on great white deer, braiding flowers into their hair."

Lavellan looked at him like he'd grown another head but Dorian didn't appear to notice. "Or are you the token grumpy elf?"

"We're nomads who can only trade with others of our own, who we rarely meet. We spend most of our time making sure everyone has something to eat."

"Well you must have time for frolicking."

"No."

"What about the Halla? Do they frolic?"

Lavellan glared at him.

Dorian lit up, "They do!"

"They're Halla."

"Do you ever frolic with your Halla?"

Lavellan heaved a sigh and moved faster, refusing to look at him. "No."

"Well that's a shame. What's the point of having something like Halla if you never frolic with them."

"They're part of the clan."

"Yes yes, but what do they do."

"Pull Aravels."

"It has to be more than that. You don't see humans worshiping horses."

"We don't _worship_ the Halla," Lavellan snapped.

"I could swear there was a Halla goddess."

"Ghilan'nain. She's-- There's a difference between a goddess and a regular Halla."

"Ah. That makes sense. So you actually worship one Halla in particular and only sort of worship-- sorry, are very religious in the general direction of-- the rest of them."

Lavellan sighed, resisting the urge to shove Dorian into a bush. His Keeper would probably be absolutely thrilled to have an outsider asking innocent and genuine questions, even if Dorian mostly seemed to be doing it because he was bored and incapable of occupying his own thoughts.

"Do I have it right?"

"For a very bizarre sort of right." He sighed, not wanting to know what weird story that would per mutate into when Dorian was telling this to his weird Magister friends eventually. As much as the Keeper wanted to push for cultural exchange, Lavellan had seen far too many things get twisted to mean whatever the speaker wanted them to. Even if (big if) Dorian was sincere... that didn't mean anyone else he knew was. They had to be careful, even with myths.

Especially with myths, considering everything that had been going on lately.

"Are Magisters really so out of touch with the rest of the world that you assume people who _live in the woods_ spend all day frolicking?" He grumbled, half under his breath.

"Oh certainly. Luckily, I'm not a Magister, but rather an Altus, and as such I only assume you spend half the day on frolicking."

Lavellan eyed him, "What's the difference?"

"An Altus is a Tevinter noble. A _Magister_ is a Tevinter noble with a seat in the Magisterium," Dorian explained archly.

Lavellan had about five hundred questions about what the hell that meant and why a specific chair was so important... but he wasn't supposed to be starting conversations. Asking questions was how you forged ties with people (he'd gotten that lecture enough, even if his Keeper meant for him to use it rather than avoid it) and that was the opposite of what he should be doing.

So instead he just turned back to the path, resolving to ignore the Magister-- or _Altus_ due to his presumed lack of fancy chair-- from this point forward.

 

* * *

 

Dorian felt like it took days after their first encouraging but ultimately fruitless attempt at talking like normal people, but Lavellan finally got tired of his prattling on and incessant questions eventually and sought to redirect the conversation.

Not that Dorian was especially upset about being able to swap between so many subjects so freely. Even the tiny little answers he'd pried out of the elf had been interesting. Dorian had never really dealt with the Dalish before and this was... a new experience.

Having a handsome and secretly pleasant traveling companion didn't hurt either.

With luck he'd be able to convince the man to help him against the Venatori. With extra luck maybe he'd be able to convince him to teach him some of those interesting Dalish charming tricks he'd used against the Venatori scouts. He really should have brought it up already but he was worried about... well about how that conversation could go off. It would be very easy to trip on so many different issues when asking a Dalish elf to go out of his way to solve a Tevinter problem.

"Why exactly are you following me this way?" Lavellan sighed.

"Because we're traveling in the same direction of course." Dorian waited, trying not to seem like he was waiting for the question.

"But _why_ are you headed in this direction? It isn't safe for your kind here in normal times, nevermind now with the Templars out for mage blood."

That... was a very valid point, but unfortunately there was nothing for it.

"It isn't safe for you either. You may be able to pass yourself off as an archer, but for the most part any Templar worth the title will pick you out incredibly quickly. Especially when they see the tattoo."

"Vallaslin."

"What?" Dorian had meant that to ease into the conversation, but here he went getting distracted again.

"Vallaslin. Blood writing." The elf eyed him. "You did mean the designs on my face, yes?"

"We usually call those tattoos," Dorian said mildly, then hurried on to interrupt the annoyance that was clearly about to come out of the elf, "Regardless, good to know what they're called. They'll still get you into trouble with the Templars. Or Chevaliers, which I seem to recall you were worried about."

"I've been avoiding both my whole life. I'll manage."

For a moment Dorian thought that he'd managed to entirely derail the conversation and mentally cursed at himself.

Then Lavellan eyed him. "You didn't answer the question."

Dorian hesitated artfully. He wasn't a master manipulator, and he wasn't really trying to manipulate, but he was sure that he needed every bit of curiosity he could manage to pry out of the elf on his side to get this past the 'evil magister is trying to lure me into a trap' stage.

Hopefully engaging in a tiny bit of theatre wouldn't make him seem _more_ like an evil Magister trying to lure someone into a trap.

Lavellan was glaring at him suspiciously, so that probably meant he was pushing it.

He just heaved a sigh. "Well, I suppose the chances of you being a Venatori are vanishingly small."

Lavellan just raised an eyebrow at him. So far, so good.

"Evil cultist." He elaborated. "My old mentor has... gotten himself into a bad crowd, long story, and I think he may be doing something that could have long reaching consequences."

Lavellan sighed and closed his eyes. "This is some weird blood magic nonsense, isn't it?"

"Worse-- Well, yes. But even worse, the project we were working on involved time itself, and if a cult like this manages to gain _that_ knowledge..."

Lavellan stared at him a moment. "Why am I bothering to entertain this nonsense?"

"Because the very fabric of our existence could be at grave risk."

"Do you know how to speak like a normal person or do you always speak as though you're trying to get praise for being poetic?"

"I'm not--" Dorian paused, half smiling. "You think I'm poetic?"

"No." Lavellan grumped, rubbing both of his hands up his face, "I think you're trying to be and I can't tell what's literally at risk and what's just you embellishing."

"I do very much mean 'the fabric of our existence'. Time is a delicate thing."

"There you go again with that," the elf sighed. "How is this bit of magical fuss any different from all the things you Magisters get up to on a daily basis?"

"Mostly the 'threatening the fabric of the world' bit." Dorian was quite proud of himself for avoiding correcting the 'Magisters' comment for the umpteenth time.

 

* * *

 

Lavellan had meant to tell him no. He had meant to send him on his own to deal with his weird cult and their weird doomsday everything and just... This wasn't his problem. He didn't want to be involved in this. He'd spent far too much time traveling with Dorian already. It had been weeks. He'd heard about three versions of every mournful complaint Dorian could think up about everything from bugs to sunshine. Worse, he was starting to _like_ him.

Somehow, they were three days entirely west of where they'd started and Lavellan was skirting around the trees eyeing an evil Tevinter cult, trying to figure out what the layout of their tents was and where their leader might be keeping any important documents.

They were shit at camping. _Dorian_ was better at camping than they were.

All of the tents were in a circle on a raised bit of clearing, facing in. All of the mages were sitting around eating dinner, facing in. Presumably they'd leave someone on watch, and have wards up, but Dorian swore up and down that he could deal with the wards so that just meant they needed to quickly and quietly kill the sentries, then sneak into the back of the tent and kill the leader, then they could steal everything else and be gone hours before anyone knew.

Why on earth did anyone let these idiots into the wilderness? How had they not already been eaten by a bear?

 

* * *

 

"So..." Dorian mused, when he got back. "What's Dalish poetry like?"

Lavellan had expected him to ask... something important.

It seemed like a reasonable expectation when he'd been off spying on evil Tevinter cultists.

On the other hand most of what he had found was that evil Tevinter cultists were absolute shit at camping, so it wasn't that pressing.

He sighed, "Why is that what you're asking?"

"We can't actually break into the camp for hours and hours yet and it occurred to me that I never asked. You called me poetic before." Dorian was practically preening as he recalled the comment. Lavellan had meant it has an insult, sort of. Or at least not as the compliment that Dorian seemed to be taking it as.

The human was looking at him expectantly though, so he just sighed. "I don't know what human poetry is like so I can't really compare."

That was a lie. His sister was very very enthusiastic about the Keeper's ideas about cultural exchange being the key to a more peaceful future and had at some point managed to get her hands on a few different books from a clan that had (for some insane reason) lived close to Kirkwall for years. A couple of those had been poetry and Lavellan had absolutely not spent a ridiculous amount of time reading it and comparing meters and rhyming schemes and arguing with his friends about whether or not the southern Ferelden poetry was a list mistakenly included or an interesting poetic deconstruction.

"Oh come on." Dorian coaxed, "You can at least describe it."

Lavellan heaved a sigh, "It's... rhythmic? Most of it either tells a story or describes something. We've got a couple standard meters that most religious poetry goes back to, but a lot of it tends to be structured around a single word or phrase to form a visual image as well as an auditory one so it's... sort of half poetry half art. It can be in any language but anything in basic tends to get... complicated. Old elvish is a lot simpler since we have so many shortened versions of the characters and words. The exact format tends to vary a lot depending on the clans. Sometimes we'll use glyphs as a design base and draw the poems within them."

Dorian looked delighted. "You know, I think that's the most you've ever said to me."

Lavellan glared at him, but it didn't seem to put him off.

"So can I hear any of this poetry? Or see it I suppose."

"No." There was a line and Lavellan was not crossing that one. He was already dangerously fond of the human. He was _not_ writing him poetry.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Dorian was fairly certain that he had managed to wear Lavellan down a little. At least he mostly looked resigned. Usually he looked progressively more annoyed the more Dorian fussed, so this was some sort of progress.

Dorian wasn't normally a poetry enthusiast; it was mostly something that was recited to seem cultured at parties. Most of those fancy people at those fancy parties would probably be _horrified_ to be in any way out-cultured by a wild Dalish elf who ran around barefoot with a bow instead of a staff with his hair all wild and his demeanor all rough. They liked to think that Dalish couldn't even read.

Dorian was incredibly glad that he hadn't asked Lavellan about the reading bit. Turns out they had their own language that was a mix of what ancient elvish they knew and basic, because of course they did. Once Dorian actually thought about it, it was obvious that they would.

He'd just never had to think about it before.

"Now really isn't the time for poetry." Lavellan sighed.

"It sounds so incredibly interesting though," Dorian wheedled.

There was technically no need for him to fuss about this, especially since prior to about five seconds ago he was entirely uninterested, but it _was_ an interesting cultural thing. And Lavellan had looked almost like he had an normal range of emotions while talking about it and that was something that Dorian absolutely wanted to encourage.

He was very carefully not allowing himself to get any... ideas. This was a friendship he was forming. Just a friendship. He was fine with that.

"How about this," Lavellan said with a sigh that made Dorian internally celebrate. "If you manage to actually stay on task until we finish _fighting cultists_ then I'll draw you a poem."

Dorian grinned widely at him. "I'll look forward to it."

Lavellan looked slightly flustered. "You don't have to look like _that_ about it. It'll be something trite about a tree or Halla or something. Nothing ridiculous."

It was very very tempting to ask if the Dalish had romantic poetry... but that was a line Dorian knew better than to cross. Just poetry and absolutely nothing more. He was not going to ask for anything further and he wasn't even sure why the thought had popped into his head.

 

* * *

 

Taking out the wards had been distressingly easy. Apparently the Venatori had assumed that no one would be able to get past them, because they didn't even have a sentry up.

Dorian... just tried to ignore the slit throat as he slipped into the tent once Lavellan gave the all clear signal. He wasn't squeamish and he was the one who had wanted to track these people down and kill them in the first place. A quick death at night was probably better than a drawn out fight that could have resulted in who knew how many injuries.

It meant that they could steal the documents he knew were there without killing anyone else. There and away without notice.

Which of course meant that as soon as he'd started reading them he started regretting leaving the rest of the Venatori alive.

Dorian frowned. "There's no way Felix is supporting this."

Lavellan peered over his shoulder, abandoning the paper he'd been struggling through (he knew a bit of Tevene, somehow, but only a bit) and Dorian angled the paper towards him. He couldn't tell what the elf was thinking, but the grim face gave him enough of a theme. "What does this guy even _want_."

"I don't know, but with this level of worship it's probably something bad."

"Can he get it?"

Dorian hesitated, "Hopefully not. If we can manage to divert Alexios then... then definitely not. No one else has this sort of research."

 

* * *

 

Lavellan had kind of forgotten about his promise in all the turmoil of finding out that Dorian actually _wasn't_ just a histrionic mage making mountains out of molehills and was actually entirely understating what his master was up to. If he'd known it was actually some legit evil-Magister-out-to-rule-the-world-plot, he might have been less annoyed at being talked into helping.

In retrospect he would have assumed that Dorian had forgotten about the promise as well, but once they found somewhere safe and were settled in to eat, Dorian looked at him expectantly.

"What?" Lavellan asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He was halfway expecting a fuss about food considering how Dorian had reacted to his attempt to get the man to eat bugs (they were healthy!).

"I believe you owe me a poem."

 

* * *

 

Dorian had, in fact, forgotten about the poem he was owed right up until they made camp and he started running out of things to go over in his head.

Or, rather, he'd started watching Lavellan in order to distract himself from the things running around in his head (What was Alexios getting into? Was Felix involved? He thought he knew them and yet...). It... probably wasn't entirely fair to the elf, but Dorian had always been very easily distracted by handsome men and Lavellan well counted for that.

Really, it was no wonder that the Dalish kept so far away from everyone if they looked like that. Dorian knew far too many people who would see a different sort of opportunity there.

The slaves he'd seen with delicate tattoos suddenly took on a whole new dimension that he... didn't really want to examine at the moment. And he certainly wasn't about to mention it to Lavellan. They'd avoided that discussion, but Dorian had no doubt that there was still a chance of him getting shot for it.

But it did bring his brain around to thinking about the Dalish. And about things Lavellan had told him about the Dalish. And he suddenly remembered that he was owed a poem (for a certain value of owed).

He was immediately glad when he asked, though, because even though the elf rolled his eyes and grumped about it he looked pleased, and when he waved Dorian over to start drawing a poem in the dirt it was entirely easy to forget that they were in this whole mess.

"What's Tevinter poetry like?" Lavellan asked.

Inwardly Dorian cheered, because there was a question that he hadn't expected to get. Unfortunately it was one that he wasn't really equipped to answer but that wasn't going to stop him.

"Very pretentious, mostly," he answered, getting rewarded with a small snort that he was going to count as a laugh.

 

* * *

 

"It's literally on the way," Lavellan snapped.

They'd been arguing for most of the day on the path to take. Things were at the point where their missions should diverge. And no matter how important this whole mess was to unravel, that didn't mean Lavellan was going to just abandon his assignment.

"The entrance to the _trail_ is on the way," Dorian countered. "A trail that, might I remind you, will be teeming with Templars and southern mages not a one of which will be especially charitable towards Tevinter or Dalish anything."

"I'm not that powerful of a mage. With that much magic around I can just disguise myself as a servant and no one will look twice."

"As a servant?" Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not _your_ servant," Lavellan snapped. "You can wait in a tree."

"I was more wondering how anyone would miss the 'I'm Dalish' sign you have on your face." Dorian waved a hand at Lavellan's head for emphasis. "It's rather obvious."

"People don't tend to pick up on it. I had someone ask if they'd faded before, so I assume they just make up an explanation and go with it."

"That's... Convenient."

"If you ever wore something practical and tried not to act like a bit of a loon for two seconds you might be able to pull it off."

It turned out not to matter.

Once moment they were arguing, the next moment the sky was bursting, the blast of it catching Lavellan off his footing and sending him careening into Dorian.

He shoved off the ground-- or tried to, Dorian had grabbed hold of him as they fell and that made it rather hard-- and twisted around to see what the hell had happened. Had they been attacked, had they triggered something had they--

He stared at the giant green vortex that had exploded into the sky, sending cracks off green across the blue as though reality itself was breaking.

Or that could have happened.

Lavellan let himself fall back to the ground and watched the twisting magic, not particularly caring at this moment that the 'ground' was more 'Dorian' than not since Dorian still hadn't let go of him. Not that he really blamed him, considering.

"So. You think that's got something to do with your 'tearing the fabric of reality' Magister friend?"

Dorian swallowed, "It's possible."

Lavellan sighed, "Alright. Let's... We don't want to go there, a Dalish mage and an Tevinter mage are both far too easy to scapegoat and it looks distressingly close to the mountain that meeting was held. Let's... let's go see if we're dealing with one reality breaking crisis or two."

 

* * *

 

Lavellan leaned against a tree in a huff, completely the picture of impatience.

It was not charming.

He was not going to think any of that mess was at all charming.

They'd finally made it into the Hinterlands and Dorian had decided he needed to look 'appropriate' so that he could be 'properly persuasive' if they happened to figure out how to contact his Felix friend. Lavellan wasn't certain how it was different from the face scraping and fussing and cleaning cantrips that the man normally did, but apparently this time was more involved.

What were humans even, that they had to go through this much of a mess in the morning just to look mostly normal?

How did someone even grow hair (fur?) that fast? The hair on their head seemed to grow at a normal rate, for all Dorian had to trim his a couple times already since Lavellan had met him.

It was _not_ at all even remotely charming to watch Dorian fuss over his weird human face fur.

He didn't even know what the Keeper would say to see him even consider it.

(That was a lie. _"Keep an open mind da'len,"_ she would say. _"Never refuse sincere friendship, no matter the source... unless it's from a demon,"_ she would say. _"The world is larger than you'll ever see, never assume you know all it will send to you,"_ she would say. _"Oh were you not thinking friendship? Send you out on one long mission and you go mad on me,"_ she would say, her voice fond and the words unmeant. And then she'd tease him incessantly. For weeks. Possibly forever. His sister would start in on it and he'd never hear the end of it until he finally went mad and drowned her in a desperate need for silence. It would be insufferable. It was never going to happen.)

After about ten minutes of absolutely not needing to wrestle with himself about the Dorian Issue, the man himself finally meandered his way back up the bank.

He did actually look prettier, but Lavellan had zero intention of ever telling him that. In fact he regretted even thinking that.

"Well! Let's go save the world."

Lavellan snorted, "I'll scout the surroundings while you talk to your friend. Try not to get killed."

He had no intention of having a sit down with a literal Magister. Dorian he could tolerate (even though some of the conversations he had hinted at arguments to come), but no matter how great Dorian insisted the man was before, what he was now was beyond Lavellan's ability to stay civil with. With luck, Dorian could figure out how to fix this and they'd be done with it quickly.

Without luck, he'd want to be out here so that he could sneak in and rescue Dorian once his Magister friends inevitably turned out to be insane.

 

* * *

 

Dorian had to resist the urge to drag Felix with him as his friend helped him sneak back out of Redcliffe.

This was all insane. What was Alexios even thinking? It was as though every cliche they'd grown up laughing at had come to life and taken over his mentor. Felix hadn't even been willing to let him talk to Alexios.

Dorian wasn't always the most diplomatic, and the last conversation he'd had with Alexios had... not gone well.

But this was different. He could see it in Felix's face.

So he forced himself to sneak out. Without his best friend. The friend who seemed to think Dorian would be able to figure out how to fix all of this despite the fact that Dorian didn't even know where to start. Alexios was obsessed with reversing time and didn't seem to care what it cost. Alexios's new master was obsessed with ruling the world in just vague enough ways that Dorian couldn't even take that information and _do_ anything with it. Felix was... not well. The mages at Redcliffe all looked like dead men walking. And there was a hole in the sky.

Before he'd gotten too far from the town, Lavellan came dropping out of a tree.

Dorian must have looked as miserable as he felt, because the elf's expression softened as soon as he looked at him.

"Hey," Lavellan said, voice gentle. "Is your friend okay."

Dorian nodded. Technically Felix was as 'okay' as Felix was going to get, aside from the insane father.

The affirmation didn't seem to be convincing though, because Lavellan only hesitated a moment before pulling Dorian into a hug.

Dorian stiffened in shock, then slumped into the embrace, almost embarrassed at how much he needed the contact.

"We'll fix it," Lavellan murmured, lightly rubbing Dorian's back as Dorian put all of his everything into trying not to cry like a child. He would not. He could deal with this. He was an adult who was fully capable of dealing with emergencies without any crying whatsoever.

By the time Lavellan pulled him back to their camp, his hand gentle on Dorian's arm, he'd proven himself a liar.

But at least it was _angry_ crying by then.

"He's absolutely insane," Dorian repeated for what was probably the tenth time. "I don't understand how he could have gotten this way. He was always so intelligent and aware of the consequences of things and now-- He has to be insane."

Lavellan gently pushed him to sit, giving him a worried look before turning to grab a handkerchief out of Dorian's pack. Dorian held a hand out for it before the elf could start fussing at him. This was all embarrassing enough already, he didn't need to be mothered. Especially since even now part of him was liking the contact for _incredibly_ unchivalrous reasons.

As Dorian tried to clean his face off, tried to get his emotions under control, Lavellan dropped bonelessly to sit cross legged next to him. "Blood magic can affect minds, right? Maybe his new master did something evil?"

"Felix checked." Dorian said. It was... really a weird situation, to have wanted that to be true. That wasn't something he should ever want to be true.

"Ah."

They were both quiet for a moment, then Lavellan reached out to smooth some of Dorian's hair (which he could already tell had somehow become an atrocious mess) away from his face, "I don't know if it will be relevant, but I asked around while you were gone and found a list of places that people have gone missing lately. If we don't have anything else to follow up on yet--"

"Absolutely." Dorian sat up, relieved to have something to focus on besides wallowing in his own misery over mistakes of people who should have known better (over his mistakes and wondering if things would have changed if he hadn't been so... him about it). "It's probably demons or Templars, but it's better than waiting here hoping the answer will come to us."

 

* * *

 

The first had been filled with demons. They'd killed as many as they could before resigning themselves to the fact that unless someone figured out how to repair the veil, it was better to just leave them alone.

The second had been full of bandits, easily dealt with.

The third had been actual Venatori. Less easily dealt with, but dealt with.

The fourth had been another rift with more demons, and this time the rift was sending out time shifting pools that sent them both fleeing before they could find out the hard way how permanent they might or might not be. It... really wasn't a good sign as to what Dorian's friend might be up to, but Lavellan didn't have the first idea of how to stop it and Dorian looked upset just at the sight so he didn't think it good to start with that again.

And the fifth had been an actual firebreathing dragon. Because of course they didn't already have enough impossible things to deal with, why not a dragon?

Lavellan tried not to trip on himself as Dorian hauled them past a curve in the rock. He hadn't gotten directly hit with the fire, but it had been a close thing and he could already feel his foot swelling from the burn of flames that had gotten too close.

Dorian seemed to be fully aware of it, since in one moment the man was flinging a glyph back behind them, and in the next he was _dropping his staff_ and _picking Lavellan up_.

"I can walk!" he protested, even as he glanced nervously back towards the entrance that Dorian was hurrying away from. There was a magelight over them that one of them had cast, Lavellan honestly couldn't remember which, but otherwise they were quickly getting encased in darkness and he really didn't want them to be caught off guard by whatever may or may not be living in a Ferelden cave.

"And I can walk faster. Have you considered boots, they might help in these situations."

"Or they'd melt to my feet."

"Fire resistant charms." Dorian countered breezily, even though Lavellan could already hear the slight strain in his voice from carrying someone this far. Lavellan might be slightly smaller than him, but he wasn't exactly a feather and Dorian wasn't exactly used to carrying people.

He was, however, clearly determined to get far enough away from the mouth of the cave that the dragon couldn't fry them.

Lavellan just settled with a grumble, wrapping his arms around Dorian's neck (just in case the other man dropped him, that was all!) and leaning his head into Dorian's shoulder. It did, at least, make it easier to ignore the pain in his foot.

He could heal it, but creation magic took more concentration than he could spare while being carried.

Finally they got far enough in and Dorian gently settled him down. Lavellan braced against the ground as Dorian immediately went to look at his foot; the magelight bobbing over his head (turns out it was Dorian's) and a Dalish healing spell on his fingers.

It eased the pain pretty quickly, and it wasn't too long before he was more distracted by the feel of Dorian's fingers gently brushing over his foot than by the burn.

"Better?" Dorian asked, still looking concerned as he pulled back.

"It's fine." It was more than fine and Lavellan couldn't help but feel guilty about how easily distracted he was getting every time Dorian touched him. Luckily the other man didn't seem to notice. Plus, Dorian looked too. Lavellan had noticed that fairly early on, however much the man had tried to be discreet. But they'd both been very careful to keep their distance and he was sure that Dorian had some good reason for that. Or maybe Dorian's reason was the same as his. There hadn't been any way to ask. It had only gotten worse since Dorian had gotten back from Redcliffe, since touching the human then had opened some sort of barrier and now they were the sort of friends who could get into each other's space and that just-- That just caused him issues.

Regardless, when someone was healing him he probably shouldn't be thinking about this sort of thing.

Dorian still looked worried, but moved away anyways. "I'm going to cast some wards. Just in case spiders or whatever other nasties are in residence decide to come say 'hello'."

Lavellan hummed slightly. "That's probably for the best."

He also probably should have gotten up and helped. His foot was still tender, and would be for some time, but he should be able to stand on it.

Instead he just watched Dorian. He didn't usually do that, at least not so openly, but in this case he could at least say he was watching _past_ Dorian if called on it.

"Well, this is cozy," Dorian joked once he was done, brushing his hand off. "May as well move in. It's not even wet, just mildly unpleasantly damp. Shall we pass the time counting odd rocks?"

Lavellan struggled to find an appropriate answer then stopped and stared at Dorian in dismay. He couldn't think of an answer for how they should _pass the time_ that was actually something he could bring himself to say even though it should have been such an easy thing. Because he _liked_ him, beyond just thinking inappropriate things. He hadn't wanted to, but now here he was and that liking had become a terrible crush and it was such a terrible time for it to come crashing down on him.

He always had terrible timing with this sort of thing.

"Everything all right?" Dorian asked, masking his nervousness with a tone that landed halfway between haughty and teasing and somehow at some point even that had become cute.

"No," he answered grumpily. "Come here."

This was such a terrible idea.

When Dorian came back to sit down next to him, looking worried enough that Lavellan felt guilty, he reached up and grabbed the man's ridiculous robes, hauling him down on to him and kissing him roughly.

"Oh." Dorian said, pulling back slightly and sounding a little shocked. For a moment Lavellan was worried he had totally misread things. Or that it was just a really bad time. Or that Dorian and his friend Felix were in a relationship after all. Or--

But then Dorian smiled, for just a moment, before leaning back in and kissing him gently. Lavellan kept hold of his robes, letting out a little sound as Dorian pushed him back against the rock. And then the man was sliding a hand up his thigh and okay yes that was _exactly_ what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

They hadn't made any more progress on figuring out how to fix the situation. Dorian had an inkling of stealing the amulet, and Lavellan was more than willing to try... But Dorian had some of what he thought was perfectly understandable reluctance at sending one elf against his deranged former mentor who probably slept with the damn thing clenched in his fists.

Thankfully Lavellan didn't even suggest the throat slitting thing.

Luckily, a few days later the solution came in the form of wisps of rumors. At least at first. Later there were very concrete rumors about some Herald who had survived the blast at Haven and gotten some special magic that let her close rifts. Whatever the truth, she had an army and that's what they needed for dealing with Alexios.

Dorian was honestly surprised he'd managed to get Lavellan over the wall. Partially because of the security, even with Felix helping them sneak past that, but also...Well the elf was _not_ happy about things. He stuck out like a sore thumb just from the expression on his face, nevermind the Vallaslin.

"How do they _live_ like this?" he hissed, peering down at Dorian. The elf had insisted on installing himself up in the rafters of the chantry 'just in case'.

Considering how little people looked up, Dorian was fairly sure even if someone decided to wander in for a spot of worship, they wouldn't even see him. And they certainly wouldn't have said anything to Dorian. He knew how to exude 'Altus that doesn't have time for you and may use you as spell components if you speak to him' when he needed to.

"You mean the buildings or..?"

Lavellan glared at him. "I mean the..." He waved his hands towards the village. "All of it."

"Well, it's better than they had in the circle."

"Ugh."

"Much agreed."

And on that note, the world shifted and a rift tore open in the middle of the room.

"Really?"

Dorian had to agree with his lover's dry assessment, but there wasn't really time to dwell on it. He pulled the staff from his back, twirling it in his hands as he considered the rift, then launching a bolt forward as a wraith came screaming out. One of Lavellan's arrows hit the next wraith, but more were coming. They'd done this enough to know it was potentially neverending.

Well, that was one way to make the waiting less tedious, at least. Dorian preferred the other way... but it wasn't as though they could do _that_ while waiting for the Herald of Andraste in a _chantry_. This would have to do. With luck there would be something left of them by the time the Herald showed up. With extra luck she'd be able to close the damn thing and that wouldn't all be rumors after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Gammarad for betaing this <3 Especially since I dropped it on her at the very last second like the disaster that I am.


End file.
